


Stakes

by Macx



Series: Gray Areas [23]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, BAMF!Crowley - Freeform, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-11
Updated: 2011-05-11
Packaged: 2017-10-19 06:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stakes are high when Crowley has to find an abducted Aziraphale -- in Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stakes

Crowley’s appearance in Hell was as unexpected as it was sudden. He stormed through the gate, upsetting the sleepy guardian, who took one look at the fuming demon and let him pass. Wings out, glistening black and looking like they were made of metal, claws ready and eyes a fiery red, Anthony J. Crowley looked far from the lower demon everyone knew.

He was pissed off, furious, steaming, his aura hissing and snapping, and whoever got in his way was in danger of getting his head taken off – or worse.

The moment he barged into the office of the Prince of Hell, the assistant gave a squeak of alarm, but he didn’t get very far. Crowley hurled him aside and blasted open the door, facing the second most highest being in Hell.

“Crowley,” Beelzebub greeted him.

“Where is he?”

Red eyes narrowed, took in the highly combative state. “Who?”

“Aziraphale! Don’t play dumb! One of your minions took him and whatever you’re planning to do, you just better hand him over before I kill you!” Crowley hissed.

Beelzebub rose slowly. “You want to kill me?”

Crowley’s wings snapped open, the metal edge sharp, cutting the air. Beelzebub closed the ravaged door with a wave of his hand, repairing it in the same move, and then sealed it against listeners.

“I don’t have your angel, Crowley.”

“Demons took him!” Crowley snarled. “Don’t play dumb!”

Beelzebub was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “It wasn’t by my orders.”

Crowley’s hands flexed. “Who else would want to kidnap a lower angel?”

“What would my reasons be?”

The demon hissed softly to himself. “I don’t care. I want him back!”

“Well, I don’t have him.”

Crowley was faltering, his energy spent, his rage having no target, but he battled on.

“You lie!” he whispered.

Beelzebub approached the ragged looking demon. “Why should I? I don’t have any qualms with you or your angel. Actually…” He smirked a little. “Let’s say I owe you a thank you.”

“I know that demons took him!” Crowley insisted, wings drooping a little. “He was kidnapped. There was blood. And it was demonic energy. Why?!”

Beelzebub looked thoughtful. “There have been rumors…”

The wings snapped open again. “What?!”

“Let me check on them. Make yourself comfortable. And,” the smirk grew, “welcome home.”

 

* * *

 

Home.

Hell.

Home = Hell.

Crowley couldn't follow that equation any more. For millennia now he had lived and worked and breathed and felt at home on earth, away from Hell, away from other demons, and aside from the occasional visit from a higher one he had been left alone. Mostly anyway.

Hell wasn't his home any more. It didn't feel like it, and ever since getting… well… discharged, kicked out, becoming unemployed, or whatever it might be called, Crowley had entertained very little thought about coming back here. Even before Hell had dismissed him over what had happened a few years back he had felt almost no inclination to come back here.

Hell wasn't for him; earth was. Earth was his home. He liked humans. As Aziraphale had once remarked, it were the imperfections that made everything perfect. Back then Crowley had only given him one of his almost patented scowls and had called him a sad excuse for a heavenly being, but secretly he had agreed.

Anyway, Hell had released him of his bonds and he was a free agent. There were no feelings of homesickness. Home was everywhere but here; everywhere Aziraphale was.

The thought of his angel made him rumble softly. Aziraphale was here, somewhere in this realm, and Crowley would find him, wherever that was.

He looked around the office, the polished surfaces gleaming at him, the walls that were soundproof, keeping him from hearing even the slightest peep, and the fake pictures of a view outside the room. Nothing could be seen from here unless the occupant of the office allowed it, nothing could be heard unless he wanted it, and no one and nothing could leave.

Crowley had found out the hard way when he had attempted to stalk after Hell's Second. The door hadn't budged and when he had tried blasting his way out he had ended up plastered against the opposite wall, hands stinging, an invisible pressure on his chest trying to crush him. It had lasted about ten seconds.

So now he prowled across the expensive hardwood floor, glaring at the innocent furniture as he passed it by.

Aziraphale was here.

He knew it.

He felt it.

He was acutely aware of his angel's presence in this hellish place.

Someone had abducted Aziraphale and it had to have been a highly placed demon to make such a move. No demon in his right mind would kidnap an angel and bring him to Hell, except a devious and daring one, one who had enough power to feel secure in his plans.

That left Crowley with a lot of choices since there were a lot of Dukes and even higher demons.

He gnashed his teeth.

Someone had dared to break into the bookshop, overpower Aziraphale, touch him, handle him, take him here.

And whoever it was, he would pay.

A soft hiss escaped his lips.

 

 

He didn't know how long it took for Beelzebub to return, but it was too long and by the time the second highest demon of Hell entered his office, Crowley was ready to throttle whoever came through that door.

Red eyes reflected brief amusement at the snarling and hissing ex-demon, which did nothing to help Crowley's state of mind. If at all, it made him even more foul-tempered.

"Where is he?"

Beelzebub tsked and shook his head. "Impatience."

Gnashing teeth and a low but deep growl were the answer. Crowley's eyes were by now an unholy and very hellish red, a far cry from the yellow color of their usual state.

"It seems your angel was taken by someone whose intention is to impress me," the Prince of Hell continued.

Crowley was past the other demon and reaching for the door before Beelzebub had finished and the more powerful being grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. For a moment he was airborne, then the wall stopped his flight and he coughed painfully. Baring fangs, wings a tangled mess and trying to spread, he bristled.

"As I said," Beelzebub said patiently, "your angel was taken by an upshot. I know where he is kept and I will give you his location."

"But you have conditions," was the furious snarl.

The higher demon chuckled a little. "Yes. One. Take your angel and leave. I'll deal with the perpetrator."

Crowley growled again. "No. He took what's mine and he'll pay!"

Beelzebub studied the lower rank demon, smiling a very fine smile again. "Take the offer or leave it. Without knowing where he is he might be in no shape to recover by the time you finally find him."

Crowley howled in rage and launched himself at Hell's second in command, but he was easily caught and slammed against the wall again, this time with Beelzebub only inches away from his face.

"What if it were Michael?" Crowley choked out. "What if it were your angel?"

Red eyes narrowed a little. "It isn't."

"Tell me where he is!"

"You know the condition."

"I want to fucking know where Aziraphale is!" Crowley screamed, fighting ineffectively against the vice-like hold around his neck.

"And I want your word you're not going to start tearing apart other demons when I tell you and you have him."

Breathing hard, without actually needing to, Crowley struggled again.

"I will take care of matters, Crowley," Beelzebub added, voice low, intense.

"Why?" he rasped.

"Because I know what it feels like," was the harsh whisper.

Crowley blinked, slightly stunned, and the fight briefly left him. Beelzebub let him go and he staggered, leaning against the wall for support.

"Your word, Crowley."

"You trust in my word?" came the taunt.

"In this matter, yes."

Crowley hesitated, then nodded. "My word."

Red eyes bore into him, tore away shields and protection, almost looking into his very soul for the truth. Beelzebub bared sharp fangs as he smiled almost pleasantly.

"Then you might want to go down to the dungeons, level seventeen. You'll have no problem finding your angel there."

Crowley was gone in a flash, leaving a thoughtful Beelzebub behind. After a minute he followed the lesser demon, quite aware that even though Crowley had promised not to go on a revenge trip, there was no guarantee no one got hurt. In this case, it would most likely be Crowley. Beelzebub didn't believe one minute that the perpetrator who had taken the angel had left the dungeons without observing who came and went.

 

* * *

 

Crowley was frozen to the spot for a whole second before he moved. His eyes were on the battered and broken form, on the blood dripping down the almost nude body, the smeared traces of demonic claws on the celestial form.

Rage built up inside him.

A howl of fury wanted to escape his lips, but only a gasp did.

Shackles held the limp angel, his arms wrenched up over his body. The wings hung at broken angles, the feathers stained with so much blood, the white was barely visible any more. Around the tortured form were dozens of pulled out feathers.

“Zira!” Crowley exclaimed and finally moved, running over to his lover.

There was no reaction, not even a weak twitch.

“Ah, lover boy comes to rescue his plaything.”

The hated voice made the demon stop and Crowley bared his impressive fangs at the new-arrival. Hastur grinned evilly at the lower demon.

“How do you like his new looks? Rather unangelic, don’t you think?” the Duke of Hell chatted amiably. “He didn’t even scream… much. Quite resilient, really. But when I started on his wings, he couldn’t hold still any longer. Let me guess, Crowley, he’s a screamer in bed? Maybe I’ll try that next?”

Crowley saw red. Almost literally. With a howl he launched himself at the higher demon and flashed his claws. Hastur laughed and evaded his attack, but a surprised gasp escaped him when the sharp wings sliced his left bicep. Crowley didn’t stop to assess his enemy any longer. He just attacked; again and again. He drove Hastur back, suffering several blows himself, but the image of his tortured partner drove him on.

Hastur managed to push him off, throwing Crowley into the wall, and he slid to his knees, gasping from exertion and pain. Red eyes, glowing with the fury he felt, he glanced at Aziraphale’s still form, and the rage doubled his adrenaline.

“You’re dead!” he hissed a promise.

Hastur just chuckled. “You’re a lowly demon, Crowley. Nothing you can do will make a difference. I’ll destroy you and then have some fun with your little toy.”

And Crowley was airborne again, blood rage taking over.

Forgotten was his word, his promise to Beelzebub. Then again, he had promised not to hunt the guilty party down and kill him. There had been no clause or rule about the guilty demon coming to mock him and Crowley getting in a few punches.

 

*

 

It was in the middle of the ongoing battle that Crowley, who was losing by now, felt a displacement of energy, then a blast pushed him away from Hastur, who had been about to bury his claws in his chest. His wings, looking almost as battered as Aziraphale’s but a lot less bloody, twisted underneath his body, and he was about to rise again when he felt a searing manifestation of power.

Gasping, he fell back.

A figure materialized between the combatants and Hastur gave a little squeak of surprise, then fell to one knee, bowing his head briefly at the Prince of Hell.

“Beelzebub, sir,” he sniveled.

The red eyes, completely unlike Crowley’s that were now slowly turning back to yellow again, took in the carnage, staying on what was left of Aziraphale.

“I captured an angel,” Hastur explained hurriedly. “I was about to inform you of my success. This is the angel who was with Crowley and stopped The End. He would be a great gift to our Lord Lucifer…”

Beelzebub’s stare silenced him. Crowley pushed himself up onto his feet with the help of the wall behind him, holding his broken ribs as they already healed, and he tasted blood on his lips. He wanted to go over to Aziraphale, take him down from the terrible raft that was keeping him in such an unnatural position, but right now he couldn’t be sure what side Beelzebub was on. He was sure of only one thing: he would fight him, too, should it be necessary. He would die for Aziraphale, with Aziraphale, because if the angel died, his own life would be meaningless, too.

“Who asked you to capture the angel?” Beelzebub asked neutrally.

“No one, sir.”

“But you read the orders that this one is off limits?”

Hastur swallowed. “Uhm…”

“You understood that Lucifer himself declared him and Crowley off limits?”

“Ah, well…”

“You do understand that what you did might start a new war between Heaven and Hell, over an angel and a demon who are, by explicit orders, not to be touched by either side? Who are no longer part of Heaven or Hell?”

Hastur was trembling by now. “Please, my lord, let me explain!”

“We’re done explaining.” Beelzebub snapped his fingers and the Duke was gone.

The moment Hastur dematerialized, involuntarily, Crowley was moving. His claws tore down the shackles and Aziraphale collapsed, his fall cushioned by the demon who gently cradled him as he sank with his angel to the ground.

“Zira,” he whispered in dismay and fear.

Blood, slick and warm, stained his clothes and fingers. He smelled it, together with Hastur’s stench, on the cold skin. He saw the bruises and cuts and welts, and he could feel the many broken bones.

 

*

 

Beelzebub gazed at the lower demon as he held the broken angel in his arms, whispering his name, he watched as shaking hands barely touched the terrible injuries. A sick feeling spread inside the Prince of Hell. He remembered holding his own angel like that, but Michael had been in a much better shape. Weak, depleted, but not physically battered and torn.

Images overlapped and he pushed that of Heaven's Second away. Since when had he become so emotional? And because of an archangel no less!

He cursed softly under his breath.

As good as the angel was for him, he was also changing some things profoundly. Like Beelzebub's control when it came to Michael and the possible loss of his lover. Just looking at Crowley, at the blood staining the demon's hands, blood from himself and Aziraphale, brought those emotions to the forefront.

He gnashed his teeth and sealed the softer emotions away.

Not now.

As he stepped closer to the demon, Crowley’s head snapped around and a warning growl left his lips. Lips pulled back over sharp fangs.

A very clear warning.

Wings quivered, protective and defensive in one.

“Get him out of here.”

Crowley rumbled softly, gathering Aziraphale closer. He made no move to rise, apparently unable to do so, but when Beelzebub came even closer, he bristled.

“If you are unable to carry him, I will help.”

“Don’t – touch – him,” Crowley whispered harshly, voice shaking and relaying his waning control.

“Can you carry him?”

The lower demon stumbled and looked ready to keel over, but he stood laboriously on his own two feet. His wings curled around his precious burden. Beelzebub had to admire the stubbornness and strength, but it was also foolishness on Crowley’s part. The fight with Hastur had nearly exhausted him; he was in no shape to carry Aziraphale through the Gate.

He was proven right the moment they had left the dungeon. Crowley’s steps were heavy, but he doggedly refused to hand over the dead weight in his arms. They were just at the stairs out of there when his knees gave way and he collapsed. Beelzebub caught a weak, defensive move, the claws scraping over his skin, and he held the flickering snake eyes.

“Let me help,” he ordered. “I will not hurt him.”

Crowley froze for a second, then let his chin sink onto the dirty, blond hair, whispering the angel’s name. Beelzebub sighed, able to see the signs of utter exhaustion. Crowley would be out like a light soon.

"You have my word," Beelzebub continued, those four words relaying more than anything as to how deeply he actually cared.

He rarely gave his word. It was like an oath.

Crowley hissed again, too far gone to actually understand that the other demon, the more powerful of his kind, meant help and not a threat. Claws flashed again, leaving red welts on the back of Beelzebub's hand.

The Prince of Hell gazed at the minor injury and sighed. “Okay, then let’s do it the hard way.”

His hand clamped down on the narrow shoulder. Before Crowley could react, Beelzebub transported the small group out of Hell and into the flat. Crowley was shaking, whimpering softly, but he still held on to the angel.

“Crowley!” Beelzebub ordered.

Glazed, yellow eyes looked at him, the skin pale, smeared with blood and grime.

“Let go. He needs help.”

Crowley’s gaze fell on the still so unresponsive form and he squeezed his eyes shut, shivering more. Beelzebub growled a curse. He tried to take the angel from the lower demon, but claws swiping at him let him draw back.

“Still some fight left? Well, we can do it the hard way, too.”

And with that he let a shard of his power hit the weakened demon.

Crowley howled in pain and fell back, his embrace loosening a little, and when Beelzebub did it again, he collapsed, out like a light.

The Prince of Hell sighed softly. He hadn’t liked what he had done, but it was the only way. Crowley might curse him, but right now the angel needed help. Looking at the bloody mess of the two former servants of Heaven and Hell, Beelzebub set about his task. He couldn’t heal the angel, but he could at least make him and Crowley comfortable until he could call someone who would.

 

* * *

 

Michael stared at the mutilated form of his fellow angel in shock. Irate blue eyes turned on Beelzebub, who only raised his hands.

“Wasn’t me. I didn’t know about it and I didn’t give the orders. It was a renegade’s act. He will be dealt with accordingly.”

“If He hadn’t expelled Aziraphale, this could be an act of War,” Michael said softly.

“I know. But as it is… it isn’t. Just… help him.”

The archangel nodded and walked over to the bandaged angel, took in the blood visible through the white gauze, and stroked over the pale face. Gathering his healing power, he started to work on the angel’s body, wincing whenever he encountered injuries that went deep. Aziraphale had suffered a lot.

“Poison,” Michael murmured after a while.

Beelzebub stiffened, still at his side, watching the progress.

“I can’t do much about it,” he went on. “That has to be expelled by himself. I can only heal the wounds and help him a little.”

He felt his lover’s touch, a tender caress, and Beelzebub murmured something that might just have been a ‘thank you’.

In the end he needed the demon’s help to set the wings as bones creaked under his guiding power. Aziraphale didn’t so much as twitch. He was almost comatose.

“That’s all I can do,” Michael said, feeling tired after five hours of healing.

He leaned into the stronger form of his lover and briefly closed his eyes.

“This was bad.”

“It still is,” Beelzebub muttered, carding his fingers into the blond hair.

Michael let himself lean more heavily against his lover, trusting in his presence. Beelzebub wouldn’t hurt him. He was tired from the healing and he knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Get some rest,” the demon rumbled and brushed a kiss over one temple. “You’ll be needed again soon.”

“I know,” he replied softly, eyes half closed as he rested against the strong chest. “How’s Crowley?”

“Still out. I hit him rather hard, but he can recover on his own.”

“Okay.”

Michael got up laboriously and went over to the sofa, where he promptly lay down and dozed off, oblivious to the world, safe in the knowledge that Beelzebub was able to handle what might come at them.

Red eyes watched him, displaying soft emotions, primary among them a feeling, an expression, Beelzebub would deny even thinking about. Tender fingers carded into the tousled blond hair, petting the angel lovingly. Michael murmured something and leaned into the caress and it resulted in a smile blossoming on the narrow face of the demon.

 

*

 

Beelzebub watched his lover sleep for a while, then walked into the bedroom where Aziraphale was still motionless but looked lengths better than before. Crowley was at his side, equally knocked out, still rather disheveled and bloody. Somehow the demon had managed to make it from the room Beelzebub had dumped him in to this one, climbing into the bed, moving as close to the mutilated angel as he dared without hurting him more.

For a moment Beelzebub just studied the two most unlikely beings he had ever met. They had been the reason the Apocalypse had backfired, had not happened. Instead of punishment, Crowley had been thrown out of Hell, so to speak. And Aziraphale had been dismissed from Heaven.

You were always different, the Prince of Hell thought, gazing at the lower demon. Never one of us, never one of them. Now you're even more different, both demonic and angelic, just like your little angel has grown demonic traits. I wonder what their plans are with you.

Because there had to be a plan. Maybe even a Plan.

Beelzebub waved his hands and the blood disappeared, as well as the clothes, and in an act of selflessness he covered the other demon with a blanket and closed the blinds.

Smirking a little he left. Having my social day, he mused.

 

* * *

 

Michael woke two hours later, looking deliciously sleepy and disheveled in Beelzebub's eyes as he walked into the kitchen. The demon greeted him with a trademark smirk and held out a cup of coffee, which the archangel took wordlessly.

"How are they?" he asked after the first few sips.

"Sleeping."

"Any change?"

"Not for the worse."

Michael sighed and nodded. "Good. I'll check on Aziraphale later. I'm still worrying about the poison."

Beelzebub regarded the pale form, noting the fine lines of past stress. Healing the severely injured angel had really taken something out of the other; he would never have guessed that it was this strenuous. Demons rarely healed each other, leaving a wounded party to deal with his or her injuries on their own. Angels were different. Little do-gooders and amicable beings they were… they wouldn't let a fellow angel suffer.

He pushed that thought aside. He had called Michael to help and the archangel had, depleting himself in the process.

Beelzebub stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the slender waist. Michael left the mug on the table as he was pulled into a gentle embrace, as Beelzebub claimed a tender kiss that was far from the demanding, needy ones they usually shared just before hitting the bed in a wild tangle or arms, legs and sometimes wings.

The image of Aziraphale was still overlapping with the too recent events that concerned the archangel and Beelzebub felt this knot again, this terrible ache deep inside his chest that wouldn't go away.

What if he lost Michael?

So what? He was an angel. The Enemy. An archangel on top of that. One less Heavenly warrior to worry about.

The pain intensified and he buried his head against the warm neck, sensing more than smelling the angel's scent. He felt the aura, warm and whole and so angelic, and it made him shiver with fear and delight in one.

Arms were around him, holding him, and then there were wings. Soft, white, heavenly wings. Michael's wings. Encasing him.

He couldn't bring himself to confess to his emotions; emotions no demon should have.

Crowley had them.

He snarled at the inner voice. Crowley was… not a demon. He had never been a true demon. Beelzebub was the Prince of Hell. They were different.

Michael was silent as they stood together, all too empathic to what was going on, and Beelzebub cursed him for it. And he… he… felt something, too. Hissing softly he finally pushed away, anger and need warring inside. Blue eyes regarded him, so open and understanding, and reflecting the same turmoil and pushed aside emotions he felt.

Things were getting complicated. More than before. More than after their first tumble between the sheets. More than after discovering Michael's true name. More than anything before.

Shit.

"I'll check on Aziraphale," Michael only said softly and turned, the white wings disappearing as he left the kitchen.

Beelzebub felt like repeatedly hitting his head against the wall.

Complicated.

He hated complicated.

With a vengeance.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale woke with a start, totally disoriented. His mind was awhirl with images, with pain, with nightmarish recollections, and he felt his heart hammer in his chest. His breath caught in his chest and a part of him faintly asked why he was breathing anyway, but it was drowned by the on-set of panic.

The angel felt a shiver race through his body. Around him, the room was dark. It was night. But he wasn’t alone. Someone was there.

He could feel it.

His whole body thrummed and vibrated with that sensation.

It was like a warning.

And then an aura flared. Close by… next to him… demonic!

His reaction was instinctual. The angel lashed out, striking soft flesh, and he heard a loud ‘oof’, then he tumbled out of the bed he had been laying on. Naked – why was he naked?! He scrambled away, almost blind with panic.

Demonic. A demon! He was in this room with a demon!

The aura closed in again and yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. There was a voice, but he couldn’t understand it, and in his terror, he whipped his wings at the attacker. Wings were all bone and muscle, and heavy. Getting swiped by one was like right hook – tenfold. A muffled groan told Aziraphale that he had hit dead-center. He added a blast just for good measure.

The energy lit up the room in ghostly blue and silver, and for a brief moment the figure of the demon was clearly visible. He was bent over, holding his face, and he was just spreading his wings. Black wings. Midnight black and evil and…

Aziraphale’s panic doubled.

He dove past the howling demon and went for the door, his safety, his escape, and hopefully an answer as to where he was, but clawed hands suddenly grabbed him. The angel went down, colliding hard with the floor, and he shrieked in mindless panic as the demon was upon him.

The terror rose like a black wraith, a shadow, a smothering veil, and he only felt the strong aura. So strong, so dark, so much demonic, and inside he screamed in panic. His wings beat hectically, trying to free himself, and he cried out in agony as he was forced flat onto the ground, the feathered limbs creaking from the strength.

“Aziraphale!”

His name. Spoken by the demon. He knew who he was! He had been captured, was in the hands of the enemy…

“No!” he cried and tried to free himself once more, only managing to get sharp claws buried into his flesh.

The pain ripped through him and he heard a loud hiss. The pain was like cold water splashing into his face, sobering him briefly, though the fire of the wounds was counter-acting the second of lucidity.

“Stupid angel! Listen to me!”

Aziraphale moaned softly, feeling blood run down his sides.

Demon, he thought again and again. Demon, demon, demon…

Why was he here? What had happened?

A hand cupped his face, gentle, careful, almost loving. He shivered under the touch, glazed eyes meeting fiery red ones.

“Zira,” came a soft whisper. “Zira, it’s me. It’s okay. Calm down.”

He was close to hyperventilating.

“You’re confused,” the demon went on.

No, I’m not! You’re the Enemy!

His body felt so weak all of a sudden, so sluggish, and he heard a soft sob escape his throat. He was carefully gathered up and held close to a form that was so strangely familiar in a way. The aura, despite being demonic, was also known.

“Shhhh,” the Enemy murmured. “It’s okay.”

Darkness came again and he fought it, but there was no winning against it. Sliding off again, Aziraphale wished for a quick death.

 

*

 

Crowley looked at the shivering angel and gently ran his hand over the sweaty skin. Aziraphale was whimpering at the contact, but he leaned closer, which encouraged the demon to continue the loving caresses. His wounds had already closed, but the ones he had accidentally inflicted on the terrorized and twisting angel were sluggish in their reaction.

“It’s okay,” he murmured and gathered the blond closer. “We’ll get through this.”

The white wings were still out, awkward and too large. The feathers were twisted and bent, gray in some areas, and now and then a tremor went through the appendages.

Michael had left a few hours ago, needing to be back Above for some reason or other, and Beelzebub had gratefully left with him. Crowley couldn't say why the presence of the two more powerful beings grated on his nerves, but it did. It had been torture to let Michael touch Aziraphale, heal all he could heal, and Beelzebub's presence in the flat had made him bristle non-stop. Everyone was a threat to Aziraphale, even those who meant no harm.

Crowley rested his chin on the unruly blond hair and sighed softly. He closed his eyes.

“Angel…” he murmured.

Aziraphale gave a soft sigh, the wings twitching, and Crowley smiled.

“What you do to me,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale sat at the kitchen table, hands clutching the mug with the herbal tea, and his eyes were staring fixedly at a spot on the floor. The wings were out, wedged between the back of the chair and the angel’s back, looking dreadful. Not even a dead duck looked that bad. Now and then he would start to shiver for a moment.

Crowley leaned against the door jamb, looking at the distraught angel, and smiled sadly. Aziraphale was in a terrible condition and it showed in how slowly the wounds healed, in how jumpy he was, and how easily startled. The demon announced his arrival every time, not to surprise his lover. His demonic aura was frightening the angel.

Blue eyes suddenly focused on him and he gave Aziraphale a warm smile. “Hey.”

He got a watery smile back and Aziraphale trembled again. It was an involuntarily reaction to the poison still coursing through his system.

“Hey.”

Crowley came slowly closer and was relieved when the angel didn’t flinch back. He didn’t even wince when a clawless hand caressed one bare shoulder.

“How are you?”

Not that he didn’t see how bad he was off. The aura alone was like a leaky sieve.

“Could be better,” was the soft reply.

Crowley itched to straighten out the mess that were angel wings, but right now Aziraphale couldn’t stand the touch. He was freaking out every time Crowley so much as looked too hard at the appendages.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered dejectedly.

Crowley stroked soothingly over the pale skin. “Not your fault. It’s the poison.”

“I feel horrible,” came the soft, tremulous murmur.

Crowley longed to take his angel into his arms, to soothe him, but close contact triggered more violent episodes, and last night had been enough. Aziraphale’s system was just clearing of the poison, but he was still having ‘episodes’.

“It’ll pass,” the demon only muttered.

Aziraphale’s shoulder drooped even more, the wings looking worse. “When?”

He squeezed a shoulder. “I don’t know, Zira.”

 

*

 

It took him another twenty-four hours to get the poison completely out of his system and by then Aziraphale was completely exhausted. There had been two more episodes of terror attacks and total panic, but each time Crowley had managed to man-handle his angel back into the room, keep him from running out into the streets or worse, take off. It was dangerous, mainly because Aziraphale would lose all senses and simply strike at the demon, but he had to be careful in his responses. He had hurt the angel the first time, due to his claws coming out from the stress he was under, and he didn’t want to do it again.

So now, afterwards, Aziraphale lay in his arms, clinging to him like there was no tomorrow, and he was breathing hard.

“It’s over,” Crowley murmured again and again. “Over. It’s over, angel.”

Aziraphale dozed off and didn’t wake until much later. The wings were still out, looking worse than ever, and for the first time in days Crowley was allowed to touch them. The feathers felt brittle, old, and too dry. He groomed his lover carefully, let the soothing caresses relax the angel, and finally Aziraphale folded his much more neat wings.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Crowley rubbed a warm hand over the tense back, kissing his lover’s neck. “You’re welcome.”

Complete recovery would take a bit longer, but Crowley didn't care. He didn't care about the closed bookshop, the disorderly state his flat was in, nor the fact that he had long lost his well-groomed looks. He only cared about the being in his arms, about Aziraphale's health; everything else was secondary.

Maybe he would ask Beelzebub what had happened to Hastur one day.

Maybe he would thank Michael for his assistance in keeping Aziraphale alive.

Maybe.

Right now he didn't ponder any of this. Right now he held the being who meant the world to him and listened to his breathing, caressed his skin, petted his wings.

 

* * *

 

Beelzebub walked into what Lucifer called his office, but which was more like a TV room with all the hyper-modern gadgets of Man. It was an entertainment center, clear and simple, with designer furniture and a brilliant view of some kind of valley or other. Hell wasn't about fire and brimstone; it was just a name humanity had developed for a place they didn't want to be and ended up nevertheless.

"Ah, Beelzebub, right on time." The pleasant smile on his boss's lips didn't make Beelzebub any less apprehensive of this unusual meeting.

He was rarely called by the Lord of Hell. Usually they got together for their monthly meetings and after that he only heard of him by mail or memo. This time it was an unscheduled meeting, one that had been in his day planner all of a sudden, and Beelzebub knew it could be only about one thing.

But he wouldn't give Lucifer the satisfaction of starting the topic by himself.

"Drink?" the Lord of Hell offered, still smiling.

Beelzebub took the glass silently.

"I take it you have been busy lately," the conversation started, still pleasant.

"I always am," Beelzebub answered.

Lucifer chuckled. "Who isn't in this day and age? I just thought I would get an ahead notice of such events like say… a Duke of Hell being relieved of his title, post and duties?"

Beelzebub sipped at the strong martini. "I had to make a rather abrupt decision," he replied, face still inscrutable. "Nothing that will influence the workings of Hell."

Lucifer's eyes were the color of slate, reflecting amusement. "I don't doubt you, my friend. I just think it would be better to inform your commander in chief of such dealings."

"Like I said, it was a matter of urgency and I had no time to write a memo."

The Lord of Hell still smiled. "Utmost urgency?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I see. You now have an open spot, I gather. Another one."

"Yes."

"Any takers?"

"Several. I have started the screening process."

"What about the culprit?"

"He was taken care of."

"Ah." Lucifer studied him, eyes narrowing a little. "We have lost quite a number of Dukes lately."

"Two."

"More than in the millennia before."

Beelzebub remained neutral, meeting the all-knowing eyes. "Ligur was careless in attacking Crowley."

Lucifer chuckled. "A Duke attacking one of the lowest demons and meeting an untimely end. How the world has changed."

"Crowley had something to lose. Those in that kind of situation develop quite some powers."

Lucifer studied him, smiling more. "Yes. Yes, they do, don't they." One eyebrow twitched up a little. "You would understand, hm?" Before Beelzebub could reply he went on, "Crowley is the perfect example. Interesting to watch. But Crowley had nothing to do with Hastur's also rather sudden fall from your graces."

Beelzebub felt a cheek muscle jump. That wasn't quite true. Crowley had a lot to do with it.

"You believe his actions would have gathered that much attention that it could have been a… say… diplomatic incident?"

The Prince of Hell kept his mask on firmly. "Yes, I believe so, my Lord."

"Well." Lucifer drained his glass, adding nothing to the single word.

His second in command just stood where he was, acutely aware of those sharp eyes scanning him.

"A word of advice, my friend," he finally said. "Emotions can get in the way. The wrong emotions. I don't want a diplomatic incident any more than you do, and I laude your actions, but please try to refrain from such drastic measures in the future."

Beelzebub fought hard not to gape, not to tremble, not to give in to those slate eyes that seemed to read him like an open book.

"My Lord…"

Lucifer leaned forward, expression intense. "The angel is no longer a part of Heaven, and the demon is no longer a part of us. Their immunity is a given and actions from either side against them are a danger to the precarious Balance we maintain with each other. We need that Balance, Beelzebub. It's all there is between us. It's all that keeps us from falling into Chaos. Humanity is all Chaos. They keep developing faster and faster, and we have trouble keeping up."

There was an almost philosophical expression on the handsome features and the dark eyes held a slightly faraway look.

"You know how hard it is to achieve Balance, but also how much there is to gain. Call it a diplomatic relationship we try to maintain. Heaven, Hell… two sides, right? Two warring businesses, conglomerates, monopolies for the One Truth. He has His, I have mine." Lucifer leaned forward, fixing his second in command with an intense look. "But things are changing, Beelzebub. Humanity is changing and they are pushing and pulling and destroying what they can't have. Now is a time for diplomatic relationships. Intense, diplomatic relationships." A smirk. "You have proven to be rather adept at that, haven't you?"

Beelzebub felt the first tremor form and fought it.

"This Balance is a wondrous thing, a strong thing, and too easily destroyed nevertheless. To maintain it we have to make sacrifices. I understand that only too well. Sometimes there is a rogue element, a destructive element, and it needs to be taken care of. But those occurrences have to be the exception. Strong emotions cloud one's judgment and I can't have that in my second in command. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, my Lord," he managed, the tremor fighting against his willpower.

Lucifer smiled brightly. "Good. Now, another drink?"

Beelzebub shook his head and the Lord of Hell shrugged. The Prince of Hell bowed, feeling wooden and like none of his limbs were working properly as he left, aware of those intense eyes boring into his back.

 

 

Beelzebub had managed to get into his office without too many of his underlings getting into his way, asking for his signature or approval. One look at his expression and a whiff of his aura had been enough to discourage them immediately.

Now he sat in his chair, trembling with the reaction from the meeting.

Lucifer knew.

Of course he knows, moron! a voice muttered. How else could all of this have happened? You touching an archangel. An archangel touching you back. Barriers don't just fall!

Of course not.

He shivered.

He had secretly feared that both He and Lucifer were behind this all along, and while there had been evidence, all of it had been circumstantial. Now he had the better proof. Not in so many words from his boss, but still… Beelzebub knew how to read between the lines.

Balance.

Lucifer called it balance.

Why would he want his second in command and an archangel, His second in command, to develop such a relationship? Why would he want an angel and a demon to become so close? What was there to gain? Did he expect Beelzebub to make Michael Fall?

No…

He gnashed his teeth. He would never try to lure Mike into Hell. He couldn't bear the thought to see this powerful and angelic being transformed into another demon. What he loved about Mike was…

Beelzebub felt his thoughts crash to a halt.

Loved…?

An almost crippling fear shivered through him.

No!

Yes… Yes… he loved. He loved an angel. And those emotions were confusing him more and more.

Beelzebub ran a clawed hand through his black hair, dismayed at the outer signs of his turmoil. Not only had his boss told him that he knew about whatever was going on down here – not much of a newsflash since Lucifer was the Lord of Hell – no, he had also more or less openly informed him that he was quite aware of his affair with a certain archangel and expected him to keep it balanced.

He should have done much worse than just warn him. He should have removed him from his post, kicked him out of Hell, maybe even worse. Lucifer could have ordered him to bring Michael to him, make him Fall, erase his existence, whatever.

But would he have followed these orders?

His head ached and the ever-present knot in his stomach mirrored the pain.

He loved his angel.

It was news for such a powerful being as himself, for someone who had never felt anything of the likes before, for someone who had gone millennia without loving or feeling anything deeper for anyone.

He cursed softly.

When had lust and simple sex turned into this?

A long time ago, the inner voice answered.

He gnashed his teeth once more and tried to shove the thoughts aside like so many times, but they persisted. Lucifer's words had made them take residence in his mind for real now.

He hadn't been ordered to betray Michael. Neither had he been punished. Whatever the Lord of Hell was planning, and Him, it involved their two second in commands.

Why? Beelzebub raged silently. What is all that about humanity and Balance? What do you gain from the two of us going at it like rabbits in heat?

His body shivered from the memory of the heavenly body, naked and in all its glory, lying beside him. Willing, supple, warm, strong, muscular, lithe… his.

He groaned softly.

He knew the archangel's true name. He had a hold over him only He had had before. Michael was his to call, his to command, but he would never do this to his angel.

Mine.

He hissed softly and turned to his computer, quickly typing an email and sending it. He didn't even wait for a reply. He just left his office, leaving a startled and confused secretary in his wake.

 

* * *

 

The email had come as a little surprise, mainly because it had been so short and demanded Michael's presence in their apartment on earth. The archangel had fine senses when it came to Beelzebub's moods and he knew something was up from the tone of the words. So he had quickly cleared his schedule and disappeared from Heaven to meet with his demonic counterpart.

He hadn't really counted on being ambushed in the hallway.

Michael had no idea what was happening to him as Beelzebub descended upon him, kissing him hard and demanding, grabbing his fluttering hands and pinning them to the wall. The angel had little time to think as hot spots were found. Hungrily the demon started to devour him, leaving marks on his neck. He threw back his head as a knee was wedged between his thighs, spreading them. It would be so easy to throw the other off, but he had no intention to do so.

Instead he moaned his lover's name.

His body thrummed with the electricity Beelzebub's touch sent through him, with the blatant need and almost primal urge.

Those clawed hands were suddenly inside his pants, under his shirt, playing with him, fondling him, making him gasp as he was roughly brought to full hardness.

"Beel…"

Red eyes glowed with an inner fire, with a possessive need, and the demon growled his name. He would have been a frightening sight on a battle field, but here, in this place, there was no battle, no fight, no war. There was just the heat of sex and lust and auras spiking as they fed of each other.

"Mine," the Prince of Hell whispered, fangs grazing his throat.

"Oh…"

All was lost in a haze of spiking auras, of pure sex and lust and heat, and Michael drowned in the heady feeling of Beel within him, around him, everywhere.

 

*

 

Lying on the untidy bed, entangled with the demon who had just succeeded in fucking him into the mattress, leaving him limp and so very sated, Michael gazed at his lover. Unruly, black hair, so very demonic eyes set in a devilishly handsome face that had haunted many of his days in the past already, the lithe body that moved so sinewy, so cat-like, that was so desirable… all that was Beelzebub. And more. The demon was a lot more that he rarely showed, but when he did, something fluttered through Michael, something he feared and wanted in one.

"Beel?" he asked softly.

Those red eyes gazed at him, so very troubled and filled with emotions Michael had yet to understand. If he understood, all of them, completely, he knew it would frighten him. Terrify him… so he tried not to ponder.

"What happened?"

"Lucifer."

Michael tensed. "What about him?"

"He called me for a little chat. About what happened with the angel. And he knows, Mike. About you."

The archangel tensed more. Beelzebub ran a soothing hand over the warm back.

"He asked me to keep the Balance," he whispered.

"What?" Michael stuttered.

"The Balance with you. I don't know why. He could have asked everything of me, made me obey, punish me… but it was like he… approved…"

The angel stared at him, at a loss. "Lucifer approves?"

"Not in so many words, but… yes…" Red eyes reflected Beelzebub's confusion. "I removed a Duke of Hell because he had abducted an angel no longer in His service. It wasn't even a diplomatic incident…"

Michael sat up, breathing shakily. Beelzebub got up, too, watching his lover.

"They enabled us to touch," the archangel murmured. "They took away the barriers. They knew all along."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

A shrug. "I don't know. I only know that no one could make me betray you, Mike." He touched the tense being, running a soothing hand over the strong arm. "No one and nothing."

"We're Enemies."

"On paper."

Confusion reined in the blue eyes and Beelzebub smiled a little.

"Something's happening, Mike. Something's going on and it has to do with earth."

The archangel paled a little. "Another Apocalypse?" he whispered, aghast.

Beel chuckled wryly. "There wasn't one the last time. Crowley and his angel took care of that. And no, I don't think it's another one in planning. It's like… like Lucifer thinks humanity is developing into a threat."

Michael's brows dipped in thought. "But…"

"Remember Jones?"

There was a sour look on the handsome features. "Yes, only too well. But one human…"

"Is more than enough. One made it into Heaven and Hell and stole from us. One human managed to take over the powers of a demon, disguise himself in both realms, and he almost succeeded. One human is one too many." Red eyes were glowing with an inner fire. "And there are more."

Michael was silent for a long time, then he nodded slowly. "Yes, I know. But… what has our relationship to do with anything?"

"I don't know," the Prince of Hell murmured. "We're part of whatever Plan they made up. We and the others."

"Aziraphale and Crowley?"

"I think so, yes. When have Heaven or Hell ever let any of its minions leave? Become free agents? And actually employed their help? When have barriers ever fallen for an archangel and the Prince of Hell to do the nasty?"

Michael opened his mouth and shut it again. Never, he answered the question in his mind. Never had something like this occurred.

So there had to be a Plan.

What was there to gain to have opposing forces find a common ground that was actually sex and love? Michael shivered a little.

Heaven and Hell were Enemies. Why would their Lords want to change that? And how did two angels and two demons figure into this? Just because he had found something other than bitter animosity with Beelzebub didn't mean Gabriel or Uriel or any of the others would think about even talking to a demon in a civil manner. What had developed between him and his lover was… special. Very rare, almost unheard of, and so very special for him.

Aside from Crowley and Aziraphale, no demon and no angel had ever dared to become involved with the other side.

"I don't know what it is," Beelzebub said softly. "I only know that I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"That we're in this together."

Michael blinked, then smiled a little. He leaned forward and brushed their lips together. "Me, too."

 

 

Beelzebub kissed his angelic counterpart, reveled in the feeling of this being so right. He felt Michael, inside and out, felt him like a hum in the back of his mind, like a low throbbing rhythm in total harmony with his own energy. When they were together it was so perfect, he had never questioned it. It felt good; it felt right. It was how it should be, part of him murmured warmly. It was what he had missed.

They had known each other since the beginning of Time, when both had been angels. When Beelzebub had taken Lucifer up on his business proposal, things had changed. They had been on opposite Sides. But they had never been strangers. Now it was like in the beginning again, just with a twist. They were lovers. When he wasn't with the archangel his body replayed those memories of their times together. Not just the sex. Everything.

It was perfect.

Balance.

He didn't need Lucifer to tell him to uphold this balance. He wanted it just as much.

Because he loved the angel.

 

* * *

 

It was a glorious sight. White wings, powerful and gleaming, strong and healthy, stretching as far as they could as the sun played over the individual feathers and made them glow. Crowley watched as the angel flapped the heavenly appendages, testing them, and he smiled as Aziraphale folded them slowly, watching the relief on the angel's face.

It had taken over a week for his lover to finally shed the last remnants of the poisoning and torture. His wings were healthy again, able to carry him, and he could fold and unfold them without pain. All feathers had been restored to their beauty, no gray ones left. There was nothing brittle about them anymore.

"Hey," Crowley murmured as he wrapped his arms around the beloved and so familiar body.

Aziraphale smiled. "It's a beautiful day," the angel whispered, looking at the setting sun.

"Hm. Not as beautiful as you."

Aziraphale chuckled softly. "Sweet talker."

"That's me." He nuzzled Aziraphale's neck. "You okay?" Crowley asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Yes, dear. Perfectly okay."

Crowley rested his head on one shoulder and pressed himself against the slender man in his arms. Aziraphale had healed, but he had no idea what marks the torture had left on the angel's mind.

"Crowley?"

"Hm?"

"I am fine."

Blue eyes met snake-like ones as Aziraphale twisted his head a little.

"I am," he repeated.

The demon gave him a dubious look, but he kept his quiet. "Okay," he finally murmured.

Aziraphale turned in the embrace and kissed him tenderly. "Your concern warms me, dear, but this is over and I won't let it occupy my mind."

Crowley caressed one cheek and looked into the expressive eyes, searching for something and finding it. He smiled a little.

"I love you," he whispered. "I could kill Hastur for what he did to you."

Aziraphale silenced him with a finger over his lips. "No."

"Angel…"

"No," Aziraphale repeated.

Crowley felt a low rumble vibrate through his chest and tore away from the angel. "He abducted you, Zira! He tortured you! He would have killed you! Don't tell me not to feel what I feel! I could kill the bastard for ever laying a finger on you! He deserves to be ripped to pieces and rot in the deepest dungeons of Hell!"

"Maybe he already does," was the calm reply.

Crowley clenched his hands into fists, feeling the first traces of claws poke into his palms.

He had wanted to do this.

He had wanted to tear Hastur apart.

He had wanted his revenge.

What he had gotten was… well, he had been beaten up, rescued by Beelzebub, and then knocked around some more because his demonic side had overruled his more logical one. He would have taken on Lucifer himself to safe Aziraphale – probably getting killed in the process.

His rage was still seeking an outlet and while he felt thankful that Beelzebub had saved them both, he also just wanted to throttle him.

Aziraphale walked toward him and smiled. "I understand what you feel. I would feel the same and have, but it's the past. Wherever Hastur is and whatever happened to him, it's been taken care of. Accept it."

Crowley snarled. He had been shown his limits; forcefully. Sure, he was a lower demon. Sure, he had no chance against a Duke or the Prince of Hell. But still…

"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured and approached him again, not the slightest bit fazed by the hint of fangs and claws.

He took one hand and entwined their fingers, giving the other a tender smile.

"I love you, too. Forget Hastur."

The snake eyes flashed angrily. "He…"

"Is gone. Forget him."

Another gnashing of teeth.

"Dear?"

Crowley exhaled sharply, pulling the angel close, embracing him tightly. "I don't want to lose you, angel," he whispered harshly.

Aziraphale was at a loss for words, then just held him in turn. "You won't."

"I nearly did."

"Crowley…"

He was kissed. Fiercely. Hungrily. Possessively. Aziraphale gave in to the mutual need.

 

* * *

 

Lucifer leaned back, smiling like a cat that had not only got the canary but also the cream. There was a red gleam in the slate gray eyes and he chuckled to himself.

Now that had gone well. Extremely so. The developments were worth the loss of another Duke, who would soon be replaced, no doubt. Just watching his second in command, the, yes, evolution, was quite entertaining. Beelzebub had a lot more to go, but it wouldn't take six millennia for him. He wasn't the type and what he and that archangel had developed in the last year was the sped-up version of what Aziraphale and Crowley had taken millennia to accept.

Speed was necessary, he reminded himself. Humanity was developing, too. Quickly. And they were becoming dangerous. James Jones had proven that. Diplomatic relations were needed and Beelzebub and Michael were the primary candidates.

A soft beep announced an incoming mail with priority status and Lucifer's smile turned wider as he saw the sender. It was an invitation, for tea, this afternoon. Casual environment.

He erased the mail without sending a confirmation. He would be there and He knew it.


End file.
